


You know...?

by Lacy_Star



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, M/M, References to Drugs, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush, all that jazz :), haha get it its the title, kinda almost a happy ending???? ig???? up to interpretation, not severe angst but, you know?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19758541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacy_Star/pseuds/Lacy_Star
Summary: Michael opened and closed his mouth several times to form a reply before settling on, “I’m not the only person that you can talk to. There’s Jake and Brooke and Jeremy-”“You’re right. There are other people I could’ve talked to. But no.”Michael looked at Rich with shiny eyes.“I poured my heart out to you… You know…?”---Rich is heartbroken over Michael and the boys talk about it at a bar.(AKA- my 2019 BMC Reverse Bang piece! More on that in the notes, though.)





	You know...?

**Author's Note:**

> WOWIE.
> 
> I am very proud to present to you all: My reverse bang piece! I'm so honored I got to be a part of this gigantic group project.
> 
> The talented artist whose work appears in this- and whose comic was also my prompt- is Jeanteros on Tumblr. You should absolutely check them out!
> 
> Along with this, a second writer also wrote for their piece. Their name is magicath004 and their fic is titled Poured Hearts and Spilled Drinks. I'll link both at the end notes!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the finished product of this!

Two years.

That was how long Rich had been in love with Michael. 

Give or take a few months maybe, but still, two years of Rich’s life he would never be able to get back. Two years of hopelessly trailing behind Michael, a sailor to a siren, while Michael never looked back to him once. Two years of subtle hints (“I’ve yet to have my first kiss with a boy, you know? Someone’s gotta show me the ropes”), perfectly tailored compliments (“I like your laugh. It makes me laugh. Like, I’ll be having a really shitty day and then you’ll laugh at something and it’s suddenly not as shitty, you know?”), and saving up the rare extra cents to buy presents for the boy (“Yeah! You said you didn’t have this set so I thought, why not get it for you, you know?”)

Apparently Michael didn’t know. Rich hoped that after a few more drinks he wouldn’t either.

The 24/7 was a weird bar. Contrary to its name, it didn’t actually run 24 hours a day, seven days a week. From 5:30 PM to 3 AM Thursday through Sunday, partygoers and lonely people alike would stay until their veins circulated tequila through their hearts and then proceed to either mope or embarrass themselves. From 5:30 PM to 3 AM Thursday through Sunday, Rich would be found in this crowd.

Along with this, the bar couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. Rich honestly didn’t know what the owner smoked when they designed it, but he wanted some. Jenna and Jake had dragged him to the bar after exams week during senior year. It had been Rich’s first time there, so he didn’t know what to expect. The moment he’d walked inside he’d taken one look around the room, turned to Jake, started laughing so hard his sides hurt, and the first words out of his mouth were, “Where the fuck _are_ we right now!?”

To the right of the room were strobe lights and gigantic speakers. A shitty, old LED system was built into the dancefloor, weakly sending out pulses of brightly colored light on the rare night it actually worked. There was no telling how long it had been there, but Rich was sure nobody was going to try and fix it anytime soon. The air over in that side of the room was like walking into a house fire. Between the smoke from the smoke machines, cigarette smoke, cannabis smoke, and vape mist, any person standing in that section for more than ten seconds would catch twelve different cancers and maybe an STD from all the pheromones let off by grinding couples. A bored, middle aged DJ shuffled songs whenever he wasn’t getting yelled at by his boss, and the bass pumped so loud that there was zero talking over it; shaking the tables so much that glasses could (and sometimes did) fall off and shatter.

To the left of the room, on the other hand, were plush booths built into the wall, with divine oak tables placed just so and candles burning at the center of every one. Lights and chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and every single light was red, bathing the entire half of the room in maroon. Delicate wine glasses hung on racks on the walls, these ones safer from the cranking bass. Creaky bar stools lived in the shade of the overhanging serving bar itself- the focal point of the entire place- which connected the nightclub to the jazz lounge. To top it all off, classic brick walls lined the lounge for an authentic feel. Though the loud dubstep still leaked into the calmer half of the room, it still was relatively quiet by comparison.

Maybe the contrast and disarray was why Rich liked 24/7 so much. Aside from the fact that it was stupid and hilarious to him, it also felt out of place. Kind of like Rich.

That, and it gave him options. If he wanted to dance and drown out his thoughts in music and maybe hook up, he could go to the right. If he needed some (almost) peace and quiet and a lot of alcohol, he could go to the left.

Which led to…

“Whisky,” Rich said simply.

It was a left night.

A short wait later The Bartender slid the drink over to him with a raised eyebrow. 

The Bartender was a bartender Rich had never bothered to learn the name of, despite coming to the bar consistently week after week. He sometimes made smalltalk with Rich and recognized him as a regular, despite not knowing Rich’s name either, so he usually knew what to expect when Rich ordered drinks. The whisky must have thrown him for a loop; Rich was two beers in and it was only 8 o’clock, and it wasn’t like him to switch over to something so strong so quickly.

Rich ignored the silent question of “why?”, instead taking a sip of the drink and scrunching up his face at the overwhelming taste.

He needed it though if he wanted to stop thinking. It would be easier to do that if he went over to the dancefloor, probably, but he couldn’t find the will in himself to stand up and walk over, let alone dance. 

His head was gaining the loveliest buzz and his body felt pleasantly warm, but he was still upset. Which meant that it wasn’t enough. 

Every sip, he thought to himself, was another to help him forget.

The loud cute laugh? Drink.

The perfectly messy hair? Drink.

The crooked glasses? Drink.

The stupid smile? Drink.

The way he could ramble about anything if you let him? Drink.

The way he got so focused on rigged arcade games? Drink. 

The confidence he had as a loser that Rich had never been able to achieve even with the SQUIP? Super drink.

The way he’d turned Rich down? Dri-

Rich’s glass was empty.

“Another whisky?” He requested, though his lisp combined with his budding slur made it sound mangled. The Bartender got the point, though, shooting him an even more concerned look.

“I think that’s enough,” He said.

Irate, Rich snapped, “I think it’s not part of your job to decide that for me.”   
  
The Bartender fixed him with an I’m-superior-and-older look. “I think you’re way too young to even be here.”

If there was one thing Rich could be thankful the SQUIP did for him, it would be the convincing fake ID. It meant that a week over eighteen and a week into heartbreak, Rich could go to any bar he wanted to block everything out. Though he didn’t get questioned at the door and it was unlikely The Bartender had any liberty to kick him out, Rich still burned with shame.

“‘M twenty-one,” He mumbled, not even believing himself with such a weak tone.

The Bartender stared at him another moment, sighed, and begrudgingly got him another glass. As he poured he said, “The new guy isn’t old enough either. I swear they don’t even care enough to screen anyone here…”   
  
“New guy?” Rich asked.

The Bartender pointed over to the dance floor, where the DJ was boredly looking at his phone. Except it wasn’t that DJ. It was a new guy, bobbing his head to the loud beat, seeming much more involved.

“Other one got fired,” The Bartender explained, passing Rich his drink.

“Oh,” Rich stated dismissively. He wasn’t surprised, seeing as how much the previous guy sucked at his job. 

But nevermind all that. He took his drink and raised it to his lips. The second one went down easier. As did the third. As did the fourth. 

* * *

Rich knew he was pathetic. 

He’d always had some sort of hope that he’d be better than his dad. He never wanted to spend his nights drinking. He knew what it did to a person. He never loved the party scene when he had a SQUIP. Despite all the noise and glitter about it, it became the same after a while.

Yet there he was. The 24/7.

To be fair, he’d begun to lose hope during the last semester of senior year.

He couldn’t ace his classes anymore without a SQUIP. He didn’t even remember half of basic geometry, since he’d had the machine do all the work for him. Besides, he didn’t even have the money to pay for a nice university. But he kept up hope, despite his falling grades, and did his best. Community college would be fine. Nothing wrong with it. 

But in the last semester, when all of his friends had started talking about where they’d be going… Scratch that. When _Michael_ started talking about where _he’d_ be going, Rich had gotten a little upset that he wouldn’t be able to follow. Because Michael was better than he’d ever been in the first place. Academically, morally, as a person in general? Michael had it all.

But Rich held his head high and persisted. For Michael. To make the most of it.

The rejection is what made him give up.

Logically, he knew there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t force someone to like him, even if he flirted and complimented and adored. But God damn if he wouldn’t try.

Rich decided he’d ask Michael out on the last day of school.

He told himself not to have high hopes. He told himself Michael would say no.

Michael said no.

Rich was heartbroken anyways.

The night that followed that was the start of absolute self destruction that would continue on for weeks afterwards.

Michael had been the first person Rich had felt truly comfortable with in a long time. Michael was a smooth piano progression in Rich’s cacophony of voices and blaring horns and clashing cymbals. Michael was Rich’s one motivation.

And then Michael was gone.

One of the things Jake always said to Rich was “live in the moment.” He never mentioned, “regret the moment in the future.” That was the cycle that Rich’s life became. He didn’t particularly care, though he was disappointed in himself. The moment of warmth and buzz was bliss. The future didn’t matter, since the moment would inevitably repeat itself.

He didn’t know what he would’ve expected anyways. It wasn’t that he started drinking and became pathetic- he’d _always_ been pathetic. That’s why Michael didn’t want him. That’s why nobody wanted him. If anything he deserved to feel miserable, he thought as he drowned himself in a sea of toxins. He deserved this.

* * *

1:30 was when “quiet time” started. The nightclub cleared and, though the bar was open for another hour, the sickening pop music would start to die down and people would trickle out of the club and go home.

1:30 was Rich’s favorite time, because things slowed down for a moment.

At 1:25, the new DJ signed off and let one more song play while people started to clear out. Rich had almost gone over to dance for a bit. He couldn’t deny that the new guy’s energy was absolutely infectious, and the crowd seemed to love him.

Rich watched as the guy said goodnight and put a Kesha song on autoplay, hopping off of the stand. 

“He’s good,” Rich commented to The Bartender, who only nodded in response and passed Rich his requested whisky.

A _much needed_ whisky.

Michael Mell. Good God.

In Rich’s mind he now existed as only two caricatures: the perfect dorky boy Rich loved, and the awkward, trying to be nice but definitely dismissive boy who turned him down. It was hard to focus on anything when Rich’s mind switched between the soundtrack of the boy’s laugh to his disappointed- no- _disgusted_ eyes when he said, “Um… I… I just- I’m flattered, but…”

So Rich tried not to focus at all. Just let the familiar sting of alcohol scratch his throat. Just breathed.

“Good work tonight.”

That’s what The Bartender said to the approaching DJ. Rich didn’t pay attention. Just stared down at the swirling bubbles in his glass before raising it and taking another gulp.

But then a voice responded, “Thanks! You too.”

Rich choked on his drink, his throat violently burning. He could care less.

He would recognize that voice anywhere.

Whipping around, wide eyed, Rich turned to face Michael Mell. Grinning so familiarly, eyes squinty from the sheer force of it, there was no mistaking him. He was in his usual red sweatshirt- and didn’t look much different at all beyond that. Except his hair and neck were slicked with sweat from the heat of bouncing all night and being in a room with so many people, the sight of which would’ve given Rich an entirely different problem if he weren’t so stunned.

Michael was the new DJ.

Rich decided immediately that he could never go back to 24/7 ever again.

But he made no move to leave. Just stared in awe. He’d been sure that the last time he’d ever see Michael in his life would be him and Jeremy driving away in his old PT cruiser, honking the horn as Jake yelled “Later!” Yet there he was. Rich almost wondered if he was having some sort of alcohol induced hallucination.

And then Michael said, “... Rich?”

And then Michael was looking at Rich, and no, this was definitely real.

Rich’s alcohol scrambled brain came up with, “Uh.”

“You two know each other?” The Bartender asked.

“Uh,” Rich said.

“Same highschool,” Michael responded for him, because Michael could do everything right.

Michael was looking at him with these giant eyes, and then the smile was back, and he was saying, “Oh my God, how are you doing dude?” 

Which wasn’t right. Michael was better than him. Michael didn’t love him. Michael should hate him. He’d weirded Michael out.

And then Michael was saying to The Bartender, “I think I’m gonna stay for a bit.”

And then Michael was sitting down next to him.

After weeks of not seeing him, having the boy who he loved, who rejected him, so fucking close so suddenly was overwhelming. Rich leaned away, blinking at him blankly.

“I… hold on…” Rich said. He closed his eyes, trying to quickly gather his scattered mind. Michael always had a way of doing that to him- making him lose his train of thought so suddenly (with no help from the alcohol). Making him so self conscious and embarrassed, especially now when he’d reached peak pathetic.

“Yeah, okay,” Michael reassured with a way-too-nice smile before ordering a rum and coke.

Michael was _right next to him._ Rich could feel his seeping body heat. Rich could see every tiny mark on his face. Rich could see the glare of blue strobe lights in his glasses.

After months of Michael withdrawal, he was suddenly overdosing. It was too much.

“You good?” 

Rich smacked the side of his head in the same way you’d kick a broken vending machine and said, “Yeah, I’m just… kinda drunk right now, sorry.”

“Oh yeah, I get it,” Michael reassured, taking a deep breath that let Rich know he was about to launch into a rant, “I’m surprised I didn’t see you over on the dance floor- I thought you’d like that kind of stuff. Did Chloe drag you over here or something because she was too sweaty? Because that seems like something she would do-“

_Alcohol is a depressant,_ the voice of Rich’s freshman year health teacher lectured in his brain, _it slows the system down- reducing reaction time..._

Yeah. Thanks Ms. Carolyn. Good to know.

“Holy shit, is Jake here?” Michael was going on, “He has to be- he’s like- the master of parties and shit. Jenna? Brooke? Brooke never gave me back my other hoodie. She owes me-“

Rich managed to decipher that Michael was assuming there were people with him. He produced a decent response, “Uh, no. Actually. It’s just me today. Uh- tonight, I mean.”

Michael’s rant died and his face fell a little. “Oh, okay.” He sounded disappointed. Rich was unsurprised. It was just _him_ after all. Not sweet Brooke or funny Jake. Just Rich, as unimpressive as ever.

Then Michael smiled too wide again and clapped Rich on the shoulder, making Rich’s vision swim. “That’s okay though! It’s good to see you, dude! I missed you.”

Rich was too preoccupied trying not to throw up to respond. He took in a shaky breath and shut his eyes, hoping to clear them. Michael’s touch on his shoulder became gentler and his voice went soft. “Woah, you okay?”

This was too normal. It was wrong. Rich was supposed to be living with rejection but Michael was too nice. It confused his brain, and though he knew he should be thankful that things weren’t awkward, it felt undeserved. He wanted to be upset at Michael for the mixed signals and rejection but he was more upset that Michael wasn’t spitting on him or calling him stupid for thinking that Michael could ever like someone like _him-_

One hand gripped the edge of the bar table. Rich’s other hand shot forward, shakily grabbing the glass and bringing it to his mouth, spilling a little as he went. He downed the rest of the glass in one go and willed himself to forget. Just forget. This was a normal reunion between friends and it would be over before he knew it.

So Rich said, “Yeah, I’m fine,” After a far-too-long pause of nearly vomiting and then sporadically drinking. He dared to open his eyes.

Was that pity Michael was looking at him with? It totally was. Why? Rich didn’t deserve pity. He deserved to waste away in a shady bar where no cute DJ could interfere. Rich deserved-

“How many of those have you had?” Michael butted in, pointing at Rich’s- now empty- glass.

“Eh.”

“... ‘Eh?’”

Rich quickly decided to change the subject. “How’s Jeremy?”

Michael brightened at the mention of his best friend’s name, though worry still clouded his eyes. Rich hoped that after enough talking Michael would forget. “He’s good! The asshole stole the open GameStop position from me, so now I have to work _here_ and play all this stupid music I don’t even like.”

Rich couldn’t help but chuckle at that, because that was just _so_ Michael- who’s first concern wasn’t the bright lights or deteriorating dance floor or how hot it was from all the sweaty dancing bodies, but rather the deafening pop music.

It was details like that that made Michael so real. It was details like that- details so specifically _Michael-_ that made Rich fall in love with him.

_ Just forget. _

“Maybe one day after enough promotions you’ll be able to own the place and play exclusively reggae and nothing else,” Rich suggested, which made Michael laugh, which made Rich smile and panic at the same time.

“‘Reggae’ is a very broad term. I have very refined tasted,” Michael challenged playfully, sipping his drink with a glare.

“Oh, I know.”

Michael laughed again, then leaned closer to Rich. Too close. “Can I tell you a secret?”

The strobe lights from the distant club must’ve been set on a default blue option- highlighting Michael from behind in an aqua halo to contrast the red lights shining on him from around. The blue glared in his glasses, yet from so close Rich could still see his brown irises. This was beyond dangerous territory and Rich was starting to feel nauseous again, but he just swallowed and said, “Y- yeah?”

“I’m wearing my headphones while I’m up there, right?”

“Yeah?”

Michael snickered and whispered, “I’m not actually listening to any of that crap. I’m just listening to my own playlist.”

Rich managed a laugh. “Of course you are.”

“Well they don’t know, so there’s no harm, right?” 

“Yeah…” Rich sensed the conversation starting to die and quickly asked, “Why was this your second pick? You know… like… I wouldn’t think you’d be big with the whole people thing?”

Michael shrugged and tapped his fingers on the side of his glass. “Well… I guess that’s where the pretending comes in. I listen to my music and imagine that they’re listening to it too. Having a good time listening to something I’m into. Makes me feel like… I’m with people who get me, I guess. Just gotta have the imagination for it.” He demonstrated by tapping the side of his head.

Rich nodded in awe and jealousy. It made sense when Michael said it like that. Rich figured that if he had even an ounce of the imagination Michael was talking about he’d be able to pretend himself back into functioning normally.

But then Michael asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you working?”

Actually, Rich and his dad’s combined habits were putting them in severe debt and they’d probably get kicked out of their house in the inevitable future, and Rich was too busy either drinking or wallowing in his room with a headache to think about working.

He didn’t say that, though. “Um. No, not right now.”

Michael nodded. “Oh. Cool. What’ve you been up to this summer then?”

Drinking and crying.

“Oh, you know. Not much.”

Michael nodded again, as if he totally understood. “Just enjoying it before college?”

Rich stiffened and he swallowed, itching for another drink to settle all the nerves this conversation was raising. “Um… actually… I…”

Michael cocked his head to the side, which was adorable and horrible and distracting.

“I’m… um… not going.”

“Gap year?”

Rich closed his eyes and quietly murmured, “... No.”

There was a longer stretch of silence this time. Rich kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to see Michael’s pity, or worse his disappointment. He already felt enough of that in himself.

Then hesitantly Michael said, “That’s… cool too. What are you gonna do then?”

God, what _was_ Rich gonna do? He slowly peeked open an eye and looked to Michael.

Rich was not met with pity of disappointment. Michael’s face looked uncharacteristically grim. He was clearly putting two and two together even though he didn’t want to believe it. The poorly built barricades were crumbling and Rich was clearly not going to be able to hold a normal conversation much longer. 

So what was Rich gonna do?

“Probably drink some more,” Rich responded bluntly at last. Because fuck it.

Michael’s reaction was completely expected. His eyes widened and he frowned in a way that made Rich’s heart twinge.

After a long pause (which Rich couldn’t blame; How would someone respond to something like that?) Michael breathed out, “Shit… are you okay?”

Rich guffawed at the question, because anyone with two eyes would be able to tell that he wasn’t the moment they noticed him at the bar. People who came to a place like the 24/7 tended to wear their heart on their sleeve, and Rich was probably beyond the heart at that point. More like entire circulatory system.

Michael must’ve needed better glasses, Rich thought, if he couldn’t see the dark circles, messy hair, and gross red sweatshirt that Rich hadn’t taken off in a week (that he _totally_ hadn’t bought because it reminded him of Michael).

But maybe that was just how flawless Michael was- to the point that he could block out all the sadness that plagued Rich in his little cloud and assume that he was fine. That was something Rich noticed- that people that had no problems ignored the fact that others could. That people with no problems assumed that everyone was the same, because in their perfect world that meant they didn’t have to worry about them. Because, of course, worrying about others would become _their_ problem, and that would be just _terrible._

Rich didn’t blame those people. He envied them. He envied Michael.

Michael seemed to get the message that no, Rich was not okay, and went on to ask, “What happened, dude?”

Rich debated over his answer. On one hand, every story he’d ever read told him talking it out would be the best thing for him. Then again, he’d rather have Michael leave so he wouldn’t have to carry out the painful conversation, to relive the painful memories.

On the other hand, he’d already said too much to back out at that point.

On the other hand, it probably wouldn’t get any worse between them. At least not to Rich. He was pretty numb to pain at that point.

So Rich said, “You should know. You were there.”

Michael’s eyes rolled up and to the side, as if physically searching his brain for any memory of Rich getting emotionally scarred. He came up empty and went, “What? When?”

Rich could have just stood up and left, or made up an excuse like his dad, or literally anything. But he was tired and impaired. 

So Rich said, “You rejected me.”

Michael blinked at him, and funnily enough, the first word out of his mouth was, “Oh.”

And Rich laughed at that, because “oh” was correct. Normal people didn’t develop drinking habits because of heartbreak. Normal people found constructive things to do with their emotions. Normal people took up hobbies to distract themselves. Rich wasn’t normal. Rich was pathetic.

Michael was probably expecting something horrible like death or loss. But no- just a silly little invalidated crush. It really did seem stupid to Rich when it was put in perspective. But could he be blamed for feeling that way after the boy he’d pinned all his hopes on said no?

The second word out of Michael’s mouth was, “... Really?”

“Yeah. Basically.”

Shortly after this Rich realized that he was giving out the wrong message. When he just said it like that, it sounded like Michael was the source of his messy life. But it wasn’t Michael. It was all Rich.

He continued, “It’s not your fault. It’s mine, don’t worry. I can’t force you to like me.”

“Yeah but…” Michael was getting his apologetic look- where he was smiling but it was sad and wrong like a parent giving a child bad news, “I didn’t know it would lead to…” 

Michael was clearly not going to finish his thought. Rich cut him off. “I’m not mad at you or anything. Like I said. My fault.”   
  
“... How?”

Rich could’ve given Michael reasons until it was early into the morning and they got kicked out of the bar. Instead he shrugged and decided on, “Built it up in my head. Pinned too much on it. On you. Should’ve known you would say no.”

Michael became more and more visibly distressed with every word. Rich knew that a normal heartbroken person would feel victorious at the sight of their could-have-been lover looking so distraught from their own mistakes. Rich just felt bad. Because again, Michael hadn’t ruined his life. Michael had _taken over_ his life and Rich had ruined himself because he couldn’t cope with that.

“Rich… there will be other people out there-” Michael started.

“But they aren’t _you!_ ”

That was a prime example.

Michael shrunk in on himself and Rich instantly felt even more like the scum of the earth.

“Sorry…” He began, “You shouldn’t have to hear this. I’m gonna go.”   
  
“What? Wait… no, I’m sorry, I’m just…” Michael sighed, “I’m just confused. About how that…” He hesitated, clearly searching for a way to avoid insulting Rich while still explaining, “... ended you up here?”

Rich went silent. He waved for another drink. The Bartender was doing well in pretending he wasn’t listening to their conversation, which Rich appreciated, but he gave Rich a sort of side-eye as he slid another whisky across the counter.

As Rich took a long, slow swig, he looked back to when it all started- when he decided there wasn’t a point anymore. It seemed like such a blur of emotions at that point, it was hard to track down an explanation.

But he found one easily enough- it wasn’t hard to figure out the cause of tragedy when it was still happening- and set his glass down with a tiny _clink._

“You were… all I had left I guess. I pinned all my motivation on you. You were the future... And then you weren’t.”   
  
Michael stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He shook his head in doubt and whispered, “Why me?”

“Why _you?_ Why not you! You’re-” Nice. Too nice. Confident and dorky and everything Rich wanted- “perfect!”

“Perfect?”   
  
“Yes! You were like… the first person to pay attention to me or forgive me in the hospital. You _listened_ , you were there for me, I told you _everything,_ I…”   
  
The song switched to something Lana Del Rey, slow and languid, and completely offbeat compared to the still flashing blue lights. The bar was almost empty, but Michael was there and that’s all Rich cared about. Michael had him fixed with worried, caring, familiar eyes. Rich missed having those eyes trained on him, caring about him.

But not loving him.

“... I poured my heart out to you.”

Michael opened and closed his mouth several times to form a reply before settling on, “I’m not the _only_ person that you can talk to. There’s Jake and Brooke and Jeremy-”

“You’re right. There are other people I could’ve talked to. But no.”

Michael looked at Rich with shiny eyes.

“I poured my heart out to _you_ … You know…?”

There was a long, long pause after that one. Michael looked down at the counter blankly.

And it was all out. It felt good to have it out. It felt good to vent to Michael, just like it always had before.

But in that moment, with Michael so close but still so out of reach, and Rich just as in love as he was senior year, everything felt more hopeless than ever.

Rich didn’t know what he was thinking. Saying all of that wouldn’t make Michael love him. Nothing was going to change. The only thing that was going to change was that Rich would need to find a new bar to hang out in while Michael worked at the current one. Because he’d never be able to face Michael after this.

Michael was at a loss and Rich didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t know how to respond either. Rich oversharing was nothing new to the both of them- it was almost a constant in their relationship, even- but Michael had never been the subject of Rich’s troubles.

The two sat in silence. If they weren’t so absorbed in their own thoughts and worries, the company would have almost been nice.

But it didn’t last.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said simply.

“It’s okay.”   
  
“No- I- I’m sorry.” Michael stood up. “I… I really have to go. I hope you get this sorted out.”   
  
Rich would’ve normally been hurt. It felt weird to have such a serious conversation broken off so suddenly- usually Michael would stick it through. Rich must’ve really done it then- making Michael so uncomfortable he couldn’t stand to be near Rich. But instead of crying or arguing, Rich just bottled it deadpanned, “Oh. Okay. See you later.”    
  
Michael was clearly put off with that response, which confused Rich. Was he worried or not?

But all Michael did was pay for his drink, stand, and leave.

And Rich was alone again.

The Bartender shot him a pitying look but didn’t say anything. Rich just sighed, resting his face in his palm.

Maybe if Rich were less drunk and numb he would be crying.

Maybe if he had a few more drinks he’d never have to cry again.

The door slammed open. Footsteps rushed towards Rich. Rich turned around.

Michael stared at him out of breath. “Do you need a ride home?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“You-” Michael launched into another rant, “You’re kind of impaired- um- I didn’t know if you have a ride? And I felt bad for bailing. I just… That was kinda a lot. I’m really sorry. But I... I feel guilty and I don’t want to leave you like this and- and it’s really not good to be that dependant on someone? I learned that the hard way with Jeremy. Sorry- anyways- maybe I can help you? Until you’re ready to be on your own? That sounded bad… what I mean is that maybe I can be there for you like before and help you figure out what you’re gonna do? I don’t know, maybe that’s a bad idea- I just want to /help/ you, but if you don’t want me to I totally understa-”   
  
“A ride home would be great,” Rich interrupted.

Michael blinked a couple times, which was way too adorable. “Oh. Okay. Cool.”

Rich slid off of his stool, but he got a violent headrush and stumbled forward, legs giving out. 

He was caught by a warm body, and looked up to meet Michael’s eyes. Rich felt his face flush.

This was always how it ended up. Always had been, always would be for a while. Rich being so helpless and needing Michael to help him stand. But if Michael- sweet Michael- meant what he said, if Michael believed that Rich was worth helping, if Michael was going to _be there-_

The meaning of what Michael said caught up to Rich’s slow brain.

Michael was willing to be there. It wasn’t love or a relationship he was offering, but a reconnection. And in that moment, even though Rich was still absolutely screwed for the boy, it felt like more than enough. A breath of fresh air. The return of the smooth, ever running piano progression.

He wouldn’t be alone anymore. And maybe that would teach him to have hope again.

Or maybe not.

But with the way Michael laughed- real and genuine at last- and carefully helped Rich straighten up with a, “Woahkay… easy there,” Rich was feeling pretty good. Or maybe that was his pounding heart and puppylove prone nerves talking.

Either way, Michael supported him around his shoulders and guided him out into the cold morning. Rich felt warm, though, between the boy next to him and how hot his entire body felt from giddiness. In the back of his mind, Rich hoped The Bartender wasn’t too mad at Rich’s quick escape and would let him pay the next time he showed up.

So not all was solved. But at least Rich didn’t have to ride home with a shady Uber driver this time, which was an improvement. And at least he had Michael again, to an extent.

And though he still felt like shit, and though the alcohol hadn’t worked to block out his issues, Michael sort of did. Michael always helped.

It wasn’t romantic at all like he still wanted, but it was… nice. There was a sort of irreplaceable calm in being with a genuine, caring person after so long...

… You know?

**Author's Note:**

> URL for Jeanteros' original comic: https://jeanteros.tumblr.com/post/186184001309/this-is-my-expensive-headphones-piece-for-the
> 
> URL for magicath004's fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19740583
> 
> Check out their stuff and say hi for me!


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